Getting Over Self-Censorship in Blogging

I've had this blog for a little over three years. At first I was Gung-Ho Blog! It was my space to release tension about my marriage, my friends, my job, and my world. I posted pictures of concerts, poetry about domesticity, and personal fears about lumps and careers. Strangers became friends and gave welcome feedback on my work. An old friend from college got in touch and we starting swapping poetry again. It was fabulous. And, because my privacy settings were stringent, I felt invincible.

Then, I posted an entry about how daunting online marketing – my chosen profession – was. It's an ever-changing, shoot-me-in-the-face, gotta-get-to-another-conference-or-I'll-fall-behind kind of business. Three years ago I was overwhelmed in only the way a 20-something year old can be. Now, I'm all grown up at 31 (hear the sarcasm); and I'm used to it now.

Back in 2007 when I'd just risen to the rank of online marketing manager, I published a few innocent posts about the online marketing beast. One mentioned that I had to get "occupational glasses" because I stared at the computer screen too much. A week or so later, the nice HR director of my company said that she'd heard about my glasses and wanted to compare frames.

Er? My glasses weren't even ready from the ophthalmologist yet. I hadn't worn them nor told anyone in the office about them. …Or maybe I had. I couldn't remember. But, even though I wasn't in any trouble whatsoever, I felt exposed. So, I started censoring myself.

I don't know about you; but when I censor myself, I might as well put down the pen. My writing becomes useless. This blog dwindled down to nothing. Then I got super busy with my career. And I had a baby. And I got super busy with my career and my baby. Blah blah. It was the same story as every working mom.

Except now I really miss writing. And, I find that I don't really care as much if people know that I am wearing my occupational glasses right now as I type. In fact, I've gotten to a point where I don't give a hootenanny what anyone thinks about me. (By the way, "hootenanny" just passed spell check. Yes, I am turning into Ned Flanders!) 

I'm in the middle of writing a memoir about my triumph over mental illness. In order to make my dream of publishing books come true, I'll have to admit to everyone that I spent five days in a mental institution. There's nothing in this blog that I can write that will raise more eyebrows than that. So, censorship has been thrown out the window. And, for the fifth or sixth time, I'm back.

Welcome to Divinest Sense, musings of a Mad Memoirist. (The name for the blog and my most recent handle are taken directly from my favorite poem. Check it out below, "#11" by Emily Dickinson.)

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